


Fools Rush In

by MemeKonCP (MemeKonYA)



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Post-Kings Rising, Trick or Treat: Chocolate Box
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 07:33:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12427935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemeKonYA/pseuds/MemeKonCP
Summary: “Anyone who heard you would believe you a besotted fool,” Laurent says, voice inscrutable.Damen can read into his voice, into the words, can find the meaning in the crevices between them.“And anyone who metyouwould understand perfectly why that is.”(Or: Damen and Laurent, and a short late night conversation in Lentos.)





	Fools Rush In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlehuntress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehuntress/gifts).



> Hi littlehuntress! I worry this is not quite what you wanted, but I still hope you like your gift ♥
> 
> (Set somewhere during The Summer Palace.)

Damen kisses the traces of moonlight on Laurent’s back— the milky, soft expanse of skin up to one exposed shoulder. Laurent shines, even in darkness. Even the rest of him does, under the protection of the veil of night and darkness.

The surge of affection coiling deep inside of him, vises wrapping around everything and anything tender inside of him, is overwhelming, threatening to eat him whole.

He kisses the slender shoulder once, twice, and he lets himself get swallowed by the wealth of love, by the fiery curls of it, by its all-encompassing depth. Lips touch warm skin again and again, a soft pressure, a loving caress, an ode, and Laurent reacts with a shiver in his sleep, with a sigh, with his body turning like a flower in spring, wanting to be favored by the sun.

 _A kingdom or this?_ He had asked himself.

Laurent had risen above that question, like he did with any and all expectations, had dismissed it with a flick of his wrist— holding a sword, holding his own and beyond, bringing men to their feet, leaving admiration in their hearts, loyalty in their souls, and longing on their flesh—, with his clear intelligent eyes— always ten steps ahead, even when the odds are against him, even when he’s having his hand forced, when he’s getting humiliated—, had stomped on it and declared _both_ , not with words, but with the way he’d stood by Damen’s bedside while he healed— both his flesh wounds, and the ones that run deeper, the ones that hadn’t yet been completely healed, the ones that appeared to him in dreams, that haunted him, that taunted him with Kastor’s words, his _thank you, brother_ before betraying his love, his trust one last time—, with the regal way he’d faced the excuses of the Veretian council, accepting their apologies as his due diligence, with his golden bracelet on display, more of a statement than a searing kiss in the faces of the whole court could ever be, a stark reminder of Damen’s position in his life, the one Laurent had not only freely given, but sacrificed his pride and almost his life for.

An open declaration: _a kingdom and this._ And _him_. And may the Gods look over anyone standing in the way of that.

“You are—”

“Resting,” Laurent interrupts in a mumble that manages to be dignified.

“—Amazing,” Damen finishes, smiling against Laurent’s skin. 

He inhales deeply and takes in the fresh smell of oils and the few clinging notes of nature, of the wind from their ride that evening.

Laurent sighs, a soft exhale that speaks louder than any words from other lips ever could, that speaks of a myriad of doubts, of certainties, of Laurent’s hidden vulnerabilities.

“Your most trusted man, the kyros of Ios, doesn’t share your opinion.”

Damen lets out a humming sound— Laurent shivers again, tickled by the vibration against his skin, and Damen aches pleasantly, itches inside his own skin with his want for Laurent, for his skin, for his voice, for his fire—, runs his fingers through Laurent’s soft, fine hair.

“Nikandros is a good man, a loyal man, he—” 

“He is a good friend,” Laurent says, soft. “He doesn’t want his king to lie with a viper.”

Damen frowns.

“You are the furthest thing from a viper I can conceive.”

Laurent is the one humming then, sleepy and contemplative.

“You, Damianos of Akielos, rightful king of these lands, lack survival instincts. You wouldn’t last a day in the Veretian court.”

“I wouldn’t have lasted a day in _the Regent_ ’s court,” Damen corrects. 

“How can a man so fierce in the battlefield hold a faith in others’ kindness so unshakeable?” Laurent wonders.

“It’s not faith in others, but faith in you. You have kindness in you like I have never witnessed, Laurent. Your mind works in ways that are… unnatural to me, but I don’t doubt your fairness. I do not doubt where your convictions lie. I do not doubt that you have a tender heart, and that you love in a way just as tender. I told you before, Laurent, that I believe you are a true man. The truer I have come across.”

“Anyone who heard you would believe you a besotted fool,” Laurent says, voice inscrutable.

Damen can read into his voice, into the words, can find the meaning in the crevices between them.

“And anyone who met _you_ would understand perfectly why that is.”

Laurent doesn’t say anything else in reply, and Damen doesn’t need him to.

He buries his nose against Laurent’s neck, and feels Laurent’s body become pliant against his, as if they could become two halves of a whole.

There is a soft breeze coming from their window, and with it, the sweet smell of flowers from the garden. 

Damen gets lulled to sleep by it all, by the fresh air of Lentos mixed with the warmth of Laurent’s skin against him, his clean scent, the tickling of his fine strands of hair on his nose, his cheeks.

It’s peaceful, and a wonder, and Damen rests. 


End file.
